


Send Me Away With A Smile

by aurics



Series: it won't be long before we're home [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Bittersweet, M/M, Minor Injuries, Time Skips, War, fictional war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: Seungcheol is leaving to fight yet another war - only this time, it will be without Jeonghan by his side.





	Send Me Away With A Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://curiouscat.me/aurics/post/250263446) prompt I received eons ago. As always, the prompt ran away from me!
> 
>  **Note:** The war in this fic is fictional, but it is heavily based on the events of World War II. Military rankings and hierarchy are based on the US one (because it's the easiest to understand). Please pay attention to the day counts as this fic involves many time skips! For easier reference, whenever there is a timestamp it means the events are occurring presently.
> 
> Title inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jy2xJ9ZUBnI) war song of the same name.

 

 

_Day count: 2879_

_(4:42pm)_

 

On a normal day, Seungcheol would have enough sensibility to pack an umbrella regardless of where he’s going—he’s never been very fond of the rain, the memories of damp trenches and wet footwear from traversing plains too unpleasant to overcome, and he’s been around long enough to know that predictable weather isn’t something he should expect here in the countryside of Daegu. On a normal day Seungcheol would appear at Jeonghan's doorway dry, an umbrella above his head and a wide, goofy smile on his face.

But today is not a normal day.

Jeonghan watches as Seungcheol shakes off the droplets of water from his hair that hangs in wet, slightly long locks and rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. The drenched uniform hangs off of Seungcheol’s body, making him look dilapidated like a broken toy, and the muddy shoes only add to the grievous look. Jeonghan’s porch is now home to a decent-sized puddle, but he pays it no attention as his gaze is fixed, riveted on Seungcheol’s face. He’s smiling the wide, goofy smile Jeonghan knows so well, all gums and small, neat row of teeth.

At least some things do not change, even in the face of adversity.

“Hi, honey.” Seungcheol says in his most flirtatious tone despite the unmistakable tell-tales of sleepless evenings and red-rimmed eyes. “You look lovely today.”

The thing about Seungcheol’s flirting is that Jeonghan always responds to it with an eye-roll, but it never fails to put a grin on his face no matter how finger-curlingly cheesy it may be. “That’s what you say every time you visit.”

“Can’t help it—you always look so dashing.”

It pulls a laugh out of Jeonghan, despite everything, and while he wants nothing more than to throw himself at Seungcheol and kiss him until he’s stolen all the breath out of his chest, his porch is really getting very wet and Seungcheol is beginning to visibly shiver, so Jeonghan backpedals quickly to usher him in.

The furnace is running and Seungcheol clearly appreciates this as he lets out a contented hum, watching Jeonghan disappear to the bedroom to fetch a towel from the cupboard. It’s a little difficult trying to juggle the towel and the grip on his crutches, but Jeonghan just about manages and successfully threatens Seungcheol out of stepping even a single centimetre out of place.

“I don’t want to have to mop the entire place,” he says as a means of an excuse before he hands the towels to Seungcheol, who accepts them with a kiss to Jeonghan’s forehead. Watching Seungcheol wipe himself down, Jeonghan leans his weight onto his crutches and, without thinking, lets his fingers trail along the damp collar of Seungcheol’s uniform down to his lapels. He gently prods at the golden surfaces of the award badges, three of them, then lets his finger hover over the insignia on his collar.

 _"'_ _Lieutenant Choi'_.” Jeonghan means to be coy, but his voice comes out too soft, almost longing. He clears his throat, looks up at Seungcheol with a wide grin as he says again, “Lieutenant Choi.”

Seungcheol snorts. “It looks stupid.”

“No, it looks charismatic.” Jeonghan pulls at one of the badges. “Are they still heavy to put on?”

“Are you saying my stamina’s been stagnant all these years?”

“No, I’m saying it most likely took a turn for the worse.”

"Some people stay in shape even after they're off-duty you know."

"Then you'll be irresistibly fit once you start fighting alongside the boys again, huh?"

Jeonghan wants to bite his own tongue as soon as the words leave his mouth.  Seungcheol's smile dims as he shakes his head before a noise that imitates a laugh escapes his throat. It quickly turns into a choked noise and he leans forward to rest his forehead against Jeonghan’s shoulder. The unexpected weight makes Jeonghan stumble backwards and he feels his stomach twist in anxious knots.

“Seungcheol— _hey_ ," Jeonghan steadies himself on his crutches, tries to laugh it off as he clings to Seungcheol’s upper arm. “What's wrong?"

"Han—I can't. I can't go back there."

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Day count: 301_

 

At times like this, they wonder why they'd ever thought of mucking around in the mud on a rainy day as a way seeking thrill when they were young boys—after all, they'd only get their hands and nails dirty in the process, stain their clothes beyond saving, and run around in damp, squelching shoes. Maybe the adrenaline was worth it back then because they knew they could always return to a dry home and a warm bath to wash the dirt off every time.

Here, it's a completely different adrenaline coursing through Jeonghan's veins as he rolls over on the ground and slides down into a trench, scraping his arm as he tries to avoid stepping on the body lying at the bottom of it. He succeeds, barely—but has no time to commend his own athletic abilities before a series of rapid gunshots fly past his head. He knows they’re at least one strip of dirt away, coming from the trench across, but it doesn’t absolve him of the terror wrapping around his wildly beating heart, making him feel as if he’s being suffocated just to squeeze out the last vestiges of his bravery out so he could ignore the way soldiers around him drop down to the floor screaming. The medics will soon arrive, anyway—saving the wounded is not his job.

When Jeonghan runs to the left, aiming to occupy a vacant nook in the ditch, he sees something drop to the ground, just metres in front of him—

“Grenade!” he shouts. “Fall back, fall back!”

He’s batting someone behind him away—he must be hitting a chest, or a stomach—and he feels the ground under him give way. He stumbles, drops to the ground and scrambles to stand up, but he falls again as he realises he’s got his foot tangled in the strap of his gun. He thinks for a second, _this is how I’ll die, then._

Then there are a pair of arms pulling him backwards harshly, dragging him across the muddy ground and almost flinging him face-first behind a makeshift pile of soil just as the ground in front of him blasts into tiny pieces, high up in the air.

Here, it isn’t the adrenaline from getting dirty keeping you running. It’s the adrenaline of being so close to death.

Finally freeing his leg from the gun strap, Jeonghan spins around and wipes mud off his face to see Seungcheol keeling over him. Despite clutching his own left ear and face twisted in pain, Seungcheol manages to shout, over the gunshots of their allies, “You okay, Private Yoon?”

But Jeonghan doesn’t heed his question; he gets on his knees and pulls on Seungcheol’s hand instead. It comes away with blood.

“I told you to stay behind me,” Jeonghan growls, but even he knows it’s only empty words spoken in vain as Seungcheol gives him a withering look.

“If I did, you wouldn’t be there to make sure I was still following the rules.” He pulls his hand out of Jeonghan’s grip. “I’m fine, something just hit the side of my face and I’m not about to go deaf. _You_ stay behind me.”

It never fails to amaze Jeonghan that Seungcheol can read his thoughts, sometimes, just by the look on Jeonghan's face. _Private Choi,_ Jeonghan should call him, but his concern doesn’t stem from soldier camaraderie and he forgets to uphold formalities. “Seungcheol, you’re injured, so you can’t—“

“So are you.” Jeonghan follows Seungcheol’s finger, pointed at his sleeve that is now soaked to a darker colour of green in the hazy air and rapidly falling sun—though he knows, on white cloth, the stain would be a startling red.

“We’re wasting time,” he breathes out, eyes growing soft. “The South of the trench needs manpower. Let’s go, Jeonghan—I know you’re a fast runner, but stay _behind_ me."

A bomb near him and it pierces through Jeonghan’s ear, but he pretends not to be affected. The slightest display of discomfort would mean Seungcheol’s sacrifice and Jeonghan knows this all too well. He grabs Seungcheol’s hand, and to an onlooker it may simply look like a soldier helping an injured friend when in reality it goes past mere survival.

“No. If we’re going forward, we’re going together.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but breaks out into a laugh anyway. Even with the blood on his hands, the mud in his shoes, the limp in his jog and the blasts of gunfire all around, he takes Jeonghan's free hand and smiles like he hasn’t seen a better day than this one.

 

* * *

 

_Day count: 2879_

_(5:15pm)_

 

Having to manoeuvre with his prosthetic leg renders Jeonghan less agile than usual—not that his current lifestyle requires any athleticism out of him. A slower pace of life has made him take things a little slower than he normally would and taught him patience, something that was thinning down to a negligible amount prior to his enlistment. After his (forced) military retirement there isn’t much to his life outside of the usual mundanity except the constant worry, anxiety buzzing in him like the background static noise of a transmitted audio message. For the past five years, it has quietened down to an imperceivable volume, and though today it comes back in full force he still maintains a calm facade.

As he tries to slow Seungcheol’s breathing to a normal pace, Jeonghan realises how much his patience has changed him as a person—but he shouldn’t be so surprised by this, after all this time. What kind of person would someone be if they didn’t come out of a war changed?

When Seungcheol finally peels himself away from Jeonghan, the latter leads him to his bedroom—a small space with furniture arranged in such a way that allows the bed to get most sunlight during sunrise. Life in the trenches had made Jeonghan greedy for them, every bit of ray of the sun—but when Seungcheol is there with him sometimes he forgets he’s craving them at all. He rests his crutches by the bedside table and takes Seungcheol’s hands in his.

“Are you leaving tonight?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, draws a shaky breath in. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

“So you’ll be staying over?” Jeonghan tries to ask this playfully, wiggling his eyebrows in a joking manner.

Seungcheol gives him a small grin. “That was the plan. I don’t have to meet the rest of the enlisted men until late afternoon. And then we’ll be heading off together.”

Jeonghan draws a sharp breath in, all the jest drained out of him. He asks, “Front lines?” and Seungcheol looks at him with distress in his brows.

“It will always be the front lines.”

The room is quiet as Seungcheol avoids Jeonghan's gaze. Perhaps he doesn’t want Jeonghan to see his eyes, puffy and red merely twenty minutes into their first meeting in almost two weeks, but Jeonghan knows Seungcheol isn’t one to feel emasculated from something so trivial, nor does his pride get in the way of his emotions. No, that isn't why he's avoiding Jeonghan's stare. He knows that Seungcheol is afraid of looking into his eyes and crying again when the last thing he wants to do is spend their last hours with each other only in tears.

Seungcheol’s skin is cold from the weather outside when Jeonghan reaches up to stroke his cheeks, but he leans in and Jeonghan finds he doesn’t mind the slight chill if it means Seungcheol can breathe a little easier. “We both know it’s not going to be easy. But if you did it once—if you stayed alive once, you can do it again.”

Like being pulled by an invisible force, Jeonghan leans forwards to kiss him just as Seungcheol reaches up to grab his shirt desperately. Seungcheol's lips are sloppy in their movements, trembly as he presses back with all the fervour he’s probably able to muster but it only makes Jeonghan crave for more, tangling his fingers in Seungcheol’s hair like it’s the only thing he can hold onto, keep memory of. He forgets about the dampness of Seungcheol’s uniform, now seeping into his dry and warm bed, and forgets about his chilly fingertips—he only chases after the warmth at the back of Seungcheol’s neck, between his collar bones, in his mouth as Jeonghan prods at his lips to swipe his tongue against Seungcheol’s.

“I survived only because I had you,” he whispers into the space between them as they break apart for air.

Jeonghan knows Seungcheol didn’t mean to break his heart in two—but he can’t help his feeling like a deadweight sinking in arctic water. He groans, leaning forward to bite at Seungcheol’s bottom lip until he lets out a surprised moan.

“You still have me,” he whispers, leaning back to kiss the spot below Seungcheol’s ear just to feel the shivers going down Seungcheol's back. “You always will.”

“Not unless—“

“Shut up,” Jeonghan interrupts, saying it like a command when he really means to beg. He knows what Seungcheol is thinking of, but he won’t have it. “There’s no point in thinking about the worst.”

“There is,” Seungcheol gasps when Jeonghan bites down on his neck. “It prepares you for unexpected situations.”

“We’re in love, not in military training, Choi Seungcheol."

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Day count: 2871_

 

It’s all over the news.

Every newspaper and every radio station is parroting the same headlines: a second war has broken out, the peace pact thought to be infallible is violated merely five years after it has taken into effect. Korea has once again found themselves in warfare, the government is already conscripting young men across the country into military. Economies around the world are only just recovering—can any of them sustain another spell of conflict and bloodshed, so soon after massive casualties?

When they’d believed so ardently that the worst was over, that the tempest had blown past them at last—to be faced with something like this before the wounds have fully healed, the grief buried deep, and the gaping hole left by losses patched up, it feels worse than the nightmares they still wake up from.  

 

 

* * *

 

_Day count: 2879_

_(5:23pm)_

 

Agility comes when a situation calls for it; after a bit of shuffling Jeonghan manages to throw his good leg over Seungcheol’s thighs, and Seungcheol doesn’t need to be told twice before reeling Jeonghan in to settle on his lap, the hand on his lower back firm but slightly shaky with every rapid intake of breath.

“It’s going to be torturous, spending time there,” Seungcheol whines into the crook of Jeonghan’s neck, hands skimming the waistband of his trousers and slipping inside. “The days pass by _so slowly_."

Jeonghan lets out a small moan when Seungcheol’s hands start pushing up his shirt, warm now that they’re sheltered from the weather outside. Now this—this is what he’s familiar with, what he’s so used to craving; Seungcheol’s heated touch, the warmth he emanates past the layers of clothing and the breathlessness of his words that makes Jeonghan feel powerful. _This is what I’m capable of doing. This is who I’m capable of wrecking._

He rolls his hips once, if only to hear Seungcheol whine a little louder, but Jeonghan must be weaker to the noise than he thought because he ends up drawing Seungcheol into a kiss instead. “You’ll have me to return to—aren’t I a prize worth fighting for?”

Jeonghan has to pull away quickly when Seungcheol snorts into the kiss for fear of getting his spit all over himself, but Seungcheol only laughs harder and pulls him close, still mumbling nonsense as he chases after Jeonghan’s lips again. “Get over yourself, Han,” he says between trying to catch his breath. "This isn’t a war waged for your sake—I’ve won my battle winning you over ages ago.”

“Really? I think that’s for me to decide.” His laugh comes out clipped when Seungcheol bunches his shirt up below his chin and starts kissing his chest. “Maybe I’m just using you to relieve my carnal needs.”

“Hmm.” Seungcheol latches onto Jeonghan’s left nipple and sucks slowly, but releases it as soon as Jeonghan’s hip jerks forwards. He grins up at Jeonghan. “You know, sometimes I feel that way too. But that’s okay, ‘cause I get great lays out of this arrangement.”

“ _Bastard.”_

The jovial tone built up mellows down to an almost contemplative one, as they stay sitting by the edge of Jeonghan’s bed kissing like they’re trying to memorise every nook and cranny of each other; fingers moving like they’re meant to trace out the dips and curves of a body they’ll be deprived of for who knows how long.

“I wish we could stay together, but it would be a living nightmare if you were to come with me.”

“You’re saying you wish the war didn’t have to happen. That’s what everyone hopes for, Seungcheol, but the cold reality is it’s happening anyway. And remember who you are.” He taps the insignia on Seungcheol’s uniform. “You’re Lieutenant of the _Taro Company_ —“

“Not that nickname—”

“ _Taro Company_ sounds a lot better than 24th Infantry Regiment. Gives us individuality, makes us seem less like fighting machines. But to continue my train of thought—you’re the Lieutenant now. Think of how important it was for us to have the Lieutenant back when we were new privates. Remember Lieutenant Park? He was like a rock, that man."

“I know. I’m the one responsible for the morale of the platoon, get their spirits up.”

“And you can’t do that if you’re moping around thinking of your sad, clingy boyfriend.”

“You’re not clingy,” frowns Seungcheol. Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

“That’s not my point.”

Seungcheol buries his face in Jeonghan’s neck again—it seems to be his favourite hiding spot, today—and breathes out. In a quiet voice, he says, “But that’s exactly why I can’t go back there.”

“Why? You’re one of the strongest people I know, Cheol.”

“Because I’d have to see them suffer, watch some of them die.” Seungcheol is trembling again. “Jeonghan, they’re just _boys_."

Of course. It isn’t as simple as caring about his own life—it never is, with Seungcheol, whose sense of self-sacrifice becomes his downfall.

Jeonghan wants to keep him, so badly—keep him inside so he wouldn’t have to see the worst of his night terrors come alive again. But it’s not something Jeonghan can do. Instead, he prays that Seungcheol wouldn’t push him away when his back finds the bed and their legs get tangled together.

He didn’t need to utter a single prayer because Seungcheol only pulls him in impossibly closer. Neither of them are willing to let go just yet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Day count: 550_

 

Jeonghan is livid when he wakes up to see Seungcheol by his bedside.

“What are you doing here?”

There’s a sharp pain below his knee that makes his fists clench around the sheets but he pays it no heed, only zeroing in on Seungcheol with his head rested on the covers and his face blotchy with redness, clearly fresh from tears. Perhaps if Jeonghan were a better person, he’d ask Seungcheol what’s wrong, first and foremost, but Jeonghan hasn’t been the best human being as of late and the sight of Seungcheol being where Jeonghan least expects him to be doesn’t help in cooling his temper.

“ _Seungcheol,_ ” he says again sharply and shaking said man until he blinks his eyes open, eyelashes fluttering as if being pulled out of a daze.

“Han—you’re awake—“

“It’s past noon. Don’t you have a board meeting to attend?”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen and a frown clouds over his features. “Why would I be in a board meeting?"

“Don’t act stupid with me, Choi Seungcheol.” It takes everything within Jeonghan not to grab him by the shoulders and shake the perplexed expression out of him. “You're slated for a promotion and they wanted you to sit in today’s board meeting. Wednesday, at twelve p.m. sharp—"

“I didn’t want to go,” Seungcheol cuts him off.

It’s a lie, Jeonghan knows it is. Seungcheol’s been working harder than anyone in the company and even earned the trust of many soldiers within the division, wanting to make a name for himself within the military, move up the ranks, earn a higher pay that would ease the loss his family back home feels with the departure of their youngest—and now, only— son. A wave of guilt drowns Jeonghan like sticky mud and he tries to wipe it off himself by running a hand down his face; but coupled with frustration, even patience with walls as thick as dams wouldn’t be able to hold in his anguish.

“Why?” croaks Jeonghan.

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Seungcheol gives him a look. “It’s true. There isn’t—I don’t have the heart to. I can’t.” He stares past Jeonghan. “Not when you’re here."

The dam breaks. “Did we not agree that we wouldn’t make sacrifices for each other anymore?” Jeonghan’s voice is shrill now, and it seems to kick something within Seungcheol, too, because he straightens up and pushes himself away from the bed with his jaws clenched tight.

“No. No, we didn’t. I don’t remember saying anything about not making sacrifices—we said we’d stay _together_. Whether that involves sacrifices or not isn’t something you nor I can decide at any point in time.”

There's a pocket watch sitting on the bedside table in the infirmary tent, probably from the soldier occupying the bed next to his. Jeonghan grabs it and opens the lid. “There’s still time—if you go now, they’ll only be done reviewing

Seungcheol snatches the pocket watch out of his hand and tosses it back on the bedside table, just short of breaking the glass surface. “I said I’m _not. Going._ ”

“You can’t make me a reason for your absence.”

“It’s my choice."

“You’re a bloody idiot.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes. “Is that the best you can do?“

“Why? I’m just _injured!_ It’s a right miracle I haven’t gotten injured earlier in this godforsaken place.”

“ _Just_ injured?”

Seungcheol’s voice is soft, vulnerable all of a sudden and Jeonghan is scared to see the look in his face, like Jeonghan has missed out on something, is missing the point.

“Jeonghan, how can I be in a board meeting when—your leg…”

Jeonghan’s heart sinks. He throws open the covers, looks down and it’s like everything is falling through a vaccum and Jeonghan is left with nothing but the last of his strength to draw on.

“They’ve already filed your release forms…" But Jeonghan can no longer hear him.

Faced with the loss of something he loves, Jeonghan finally understands what it feels like to live in a world with its lifeblood shot down to rubble.

 

 

* * *

 

_Day count: 2879_

_(5:40pm)_

 

Jeonghan seldom experience the kind of breathlessness that comes from running nowadays—but with Seungcheol, trapped between the bed and a hard, solid body, he’s reminded of the sensation once again.

He doesn’t hold back the gasps and whimpers that come with each touch and swipe of tongue on bare skin. Seungcheol himself isn’t saying much—he simply continues pressing his lips onto Jeonghan’s skin reverently, like there’s a spell he’d break otherwise. There’s more to kiss now that Jeonghan’s shirt has been peeled off of him slowly just minutes ago, but Seungcheol doesn’t seem to want to go any further, content to stay above the collar line.

A little fed up, Jeonghan pushes him away and cups his face. “I want this,” Jeonghan looks into Seungcheol’s eyes. “Do you?”

The hand on Seungcheol’s face slips a little, but Seungcheol grabs it between his own and lets it rest on his face, leaning into it. “I do—of course I do, I want to do everything with you, Han.”

“Then why are you taking so long?” huffs Jeonghan, inching backwards to take it off of himself. Seungcheol’s fingers are like phantom touches across his hips, barely-there with its fleeting caresses. It’s almost driving Jeonghan mad with annoyance.

“Hey, champ. What’s the matter?” He’s miffed that at how careful Seungcheol is all of a sudden, different to what he’s inclined to do whenever they’re in bed together. Seungcheol’s whisper is so quiet that Jeonghan has to ask him to repeat it.

“What was that?"

“I just wish it didn’t feel like it’ll be our last time together."

Jeonghan's heart clenches in his chest. “Cheol, come on, I told you there’s no point in thinking like that.” Jeonghan sighs, pushing Seungcheol’s hair away from his face. It’s his favourite thing to do when he wants Seungcheol to open up, and it almost always works.

“I can’t help it. It still feels so surreal.”

It’s a feeling Jeonghan knows all too well, has felt multiple times over the course of his life—fear that may turn to reality, made all the more tangible by circumstances beyond their control. And if Jeonghan was being honest, of _course_ thoughts of this being their last run through his head as well. But it doesn’t mean Jeonghan wants this to be the way they spend their night together. When he doesn’t immediately reply, he can see the worry fill Seungcheol’s eyes again. He groans.

“Choi Seungcheol, I swear to god I will be truly, deeply offended if you still think the thought of death is more appealing than getting me naked.”

Seungcheol bursts into laughter and almost collapses on his arms. He noses at Jeonghan’s jawline before pressing a long, lingering kiss there.  “You’re right. How in the world did I manage to get distracted when I’ve got someone like _you_ under me?”

“Now that’s the spirit.” It pulls another laugh out of Seungcheol as they work Jeonghan’s trousers and underwear off and Seungcheol— _finally_ —gets his hand on Jeonghan’s hard-on, stroking slowly as Jeonghan lets out a contented sigh.

“Good?”

“Yes, _yes_. But don’t you dare tease me tonight.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I’m going to take things at my own pace, thanks."

There’s still mild distress in Seungcheol’s eyes even as he reaches out for the oil near Jeonghan’s bedside table, as he opens him up, as he slicks himself and finally enters Jeonghan. There is still distress that Jeonghan doesn’t seem to be able push away no matter how hard he kisses Seungcheol or how hard he digs his fingernails into his skin.

Seungcheol is loud, almost obnoxiously so, and on a normal day it would be the biggest obstacle Jeonghan’s patience would have to overcome. But when Jeonghan is unable to read Seungcheol for once (Seungcheol, whose face is as transparent as a looking glass on a normal day) he craves for the words like water in a desert.

“Say something,” Jeonghan says into his ear, halfway a plead. “Please, say something Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol thrusts in once more and momentarily pauses there, still buried deep in Jeonghan’s ass. His fingers come up to twine them between Jeonghan’s own, giving it a small squeeze before he pulls out maddeningly slow. “If I start talking, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“Good.”

“I don’t want to make this any harder than it has to be—babe, I don’t want to overwhelm you—"

“I don’t care.” is all Jeonghan says and he hopes Seungcheol understands—knows that more than anything, he wishes he could liquidate Seungcheol’s voice and keep it with him at all times, wants to file it away not to just play during the lonely days, but during happy ones as well, where no uncertainties cloud over his sunny afternoons. Seungcheol thrusts in with a groan and Jeonghan holds his hand tighter, moaning. “That’s—the—point, Seungcheol. I want to hear _all_ of you.”

Thankfully Seungcheol isn’t as dense as he looks—he dips his head down for a kiss with renewed fervour and starts speaking, nonsense at first, then unending declarations of love that make Jeonghan want to giggle, then praises that make Jeonghan circle his hips upwards in anticipation. Then between gasps, Seungcheol starts to paint their future together with words, and each one leaves Jeonghan grappling at them, scrambling to save the little slivers of images in his mind between the irrepressible pleasure— _shit, what was that_? Jeonghan can’t care anymore.

Seungcheol lifts his thighs and starts thrusting in earnest, skin slapping against Jeonghan’s and fingers digging into the flesh near his pelvis. His speech is reduced to three words now; Jeonghan’s favourite, the ones to send him over the edge in blinding bliss.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

 

 

* * *

 

_Day count: 872_

 

It’s been a month since Seungcheol’s last letter and Jeonghan is getting impatient. He’s planning his reply in his head already, meaning to chew Seungcheol out for neglecting the promise they’ve made to each other the day Jeonghan’s been discharged from service due to his injury.

The letter comes just before noon, and Jeonghan laughs out loud when he finishes tearing it open eagerly. He's never been so happy to read ten mere words on a single sheet of blank paper.

_They cracked the code. I think we’re almost winning._

 

 

* * *

 

_Day count: 2879_

_(6:04pm)_

 

The first thing Seungcheol does when he pulls away is massage the bit of flesh above Jeonghan’s prosthetic leg, knowing the spot gets sore easily after, as the doctor says, 'strenuous activities'.

“Is this meant to comfort me or stroke your own ego?” laughs Jeonghan. “That was not strenuous—I hardly broke a sweat.”

Seungcheol lets his head drop on the pillow with a loud groan. “We can go again in a bit, just give me a break first.” When he turns his head, Jeonghan is relieved to note the distress in his eyes has been replaced with a dazed, fucked-out look that speaks of a blissful afterglow. This is an expression on Seungcheol that Jeonghan would take over any other, any day. "You’re not light you know—holding you up was a tough job.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Okay, tough guy."

It’s still too early to go to bed but neither of them want to move much. Seungcheol throws an arm over Jeonghan’s middle. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Of course. Would I be Yoon Jeonghan if I wasn’t being missed by someone, somewhere?”

“But I’m going to miss having regular tea breaks more.”

The shove Jeonghan gives him is nearly enough to topple Seungcheol out of the bed. They wrestle for a few moments as Seungcheol blindly grasps at Jeonghan to regain his balance, ignoring his yelps and finally settling himself on top of Jeonghan, nestled between his legs again.

“I’m going to really, really miss you,” he says in a quiet voice, hand stroking Jeonghan’s hair.

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

“It really won’t, but I appreciate you saying that.” Seungcheol bites his bottom lip. “Can I give you something? But promise don’t laugh.”

Seungcheol isn’t one for surprises, but he can be awfully sentimental. It makes Jeonghan raise an eyebrow. “Should I be alarmed? It’s not going to be a sex toy, is it? To tide me through days when I miss you, or whatever.”

“Ah. This is how lowly you think of me,” Seungcheol deadpans. Jeonghan laughs.

“I’m just messing with you. What is it?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Promise. Now hurry up—after all this build up it better not be anticlimactic.”

Seungcheol shuffles away to card through the pile of clothing strewn on the floor next to Jeonghan’s bed. Once he locates his coat, he rummages inside one of its inner pockets and takes out a small envelope, plain white and sealed. He hands it to Jeonghan, face sporting the shade of red he'll remember years from now.

“Read one each day of the month while I’m gone, okay?” Seungcheol wrings his hands together. “And when I’m back, I’ll write you a new one. Promise."

Jeonghan reads the front of the envelope. On a normal day, he would fall off the bed laughing at the sentimentality of it all and chide Seungcheol for being a greaseball. 

But today is not a normal day.

 

_Thirty-one reasons to love Jeonghan._

 

* * *

 

 

_Day count: --_

_(No longer counting)_

 

Celebrations last for what seems like a decade.

The war ends with much fanfare, but Jeonghan ends it with a quiet and priceless sense of relief. _It is over, at last_ , he thinks. _This time for good._ It took them half the time to win this second war than it did the first time round—things can finally go back to normal.

And things do. Jeonghan discovers his penchant for music and spends much of his life writing them, and although they're nothing spectacular his neighbours start to recognise him as the ex-soldier who's fallen in love with music. Jeonghan isn't sure he'd describe it as love, but he does find it pleasant to sit by the window writing melodies with Seungcheol smiling down at him. Despite the subsequent years he has to get used to the prosthetic leg, Jeonghan still trips over the doorway sometimes as he walks in, or the foot of the bed on late mornings—and Seungcheol would smile at this, too. Through his nieces’ birthday parties or his lonely drinking sessions, Seungcheol smiles through it all.

Then there are nights when Jeonghan feels once again the weight of the world’s betrayal—the cruelty of a despairing emptiness in his life that he fills with nothing but hard liquor and cold rooms. When he yells at no one, throws the bottles to the wall or the ground and sinks his teeth into the pillows, letting the covers soak up the tears and wails spilling out of him unbidden—still, Seungcheol would smile.

And even when Jeonghan watches the sun set on the porch and runs a hand through his now greying hair, Seungcheol does not blink at the sun.

“‘ _Perhaps the next generation will never know peace_ ,'” reads Jeonghan, an old war memorial book in his hand. It’s written by Jeon Wonwoo, who was apparently a former paratrooper.  “ _'For they have never known chaos that compares.’_ That sounds kind of condescending, huh?” Jeonghan puts the book down with a huff, frowning at the undulating pasture stretching past his country house, the land now dotted sparsely with construction—the tell-tale of life, of progress. Recovery stage has long flown by him, and he’s glad for it. But frowning has become a tiring action to do, too, so he lets himself sink back into the chair as he glances over to his right. “You think so too, don’t you, Cheol-ah?”

As always, Seungcheol smiles back. An emptiness sinks in Jeonghan’s heart as he reaches out to stroke his face. His fingers meet cold glass instead, where beyond the fingerprinted surface a picture of Seungcheol on his first day of enlistment, smiling a relaxed, gummy smile, still sits.

Years have passed, but always Jeonghan misses Seungcheol like the letter announcing his death had come only yesterday. 

“Let’s go to bed. The sun’s about to go down.”

He grabs the frame and makes his way inside. Nothing much has changed in his older age—Jeonghan still gets ready even though it’s still a little early for bed. The only difference nowadays is that he falls asleep a lot faster. He limps past the doorway, careful not to trip lest he drops the framed photo in his hand. He enter the bedroom with its lights still switched on—the day passes too quickly for him to keep up with energy-saving habits—turns them off, peels off the covers. He grabs the familiar white envelope from a box under his bed, now yellowed at the edges and worn beyond its prime. It’s still his favourite possession to date, but he never takes it out when he’s got guests around; somehow it feels too intimate to read unless he is completely and utterly alone.

Now the smile comes naturally on Jeonghan's face as he leans back with the small slips of paper arranged in ascending order in his hands, imagining the pillows he’s resting on to be the solid warmth of Seungcheol’s chest instead.

Jeonghan isn’t one to follow rules so he reads them all, from one to thirty-one, without pause every single time.

“ _T_ _hirty-one reasons to love Jeonghan, for every day of the month.”_

_One: because he will read the slips from one to thirty-one in one go, even when I specifically made it to correspond every day of the month._

Jeonghan laughs. It still amazes him, sometimes, how Seungcheol knew so much about him—often more than Jeonghan knows himself.

_Two: he doesn’t mind nicknames. Honey!…_

_… Five: he’s cute when he’s nervous._

_Six: he’s cute when he’s sleepy. And asleep._

_Seven: he’s cute when he’s angry._

_Eight: he’s fucking hot when he’s angry…_

_… Twelve: he turns off the radio for me after I fall asleep…_

_… Fourteen: he lets me cling onto him at times without asking why, because he knows I need it…_

_…Seventeen: he’s impatient, but he's willing to wait for me. Even though he doesn’t have to…_

“Idiot,” Jeonghan whispers into his pillow. “Of course I do. You left me no choice.” _Not after I’ve fallen in love with you_.

It’s so clear in Jeonghan’s mind—Seungcheol, looking as young as the day he'd left Jeonghan, sitting at his tiny desk in the corner of his room writing sentimental words out onto tiny slips of paper by the light of a dim gas lamp so as not to disturb the rest of his family. He must have tapped his pen on his chin, cheek, forehead, look up when he was out of ideas or is simply looking for a better way to word his thoughts. Perhaps he couldn’t write everything in one go, and he took several slips of paper out on his walks at the park so he could continue, penmanship slow and careful under the glare of the afternoon sun. A lot of paper was definitely lost to dissatisfaction, crumpled up and thrown in the bin during the quest to search for the perfect words, the perfect reasons. It is all so vivid in Jeonghan’s mind, like a movie roll being played behind his closed eyes.

Slumber overtakes him before he gets to the end of the thirty-one reasons.

It’s the last time Jeonghan falls asleep.

  
  
  


✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

 

 

 

**_[Prologue]_ **

 

_Day count: 0_

Seungcheol first sees him in the corner of the mess tent, shivering and hunched over in his wet uniform like an abandoned cat.

His hair sticks to his pale face and his cheek are gaunt, almost hollow. Seungcheol throws his portion of the bread in his direction out of pity and glances at the embroidery on his uniform—it reads _Yoon Jeonghan_. Without waiting for an expression of gratitude, Seungcheol storms off to his own squad tent, kicking the muddy ground and clicking his tongue in annoyance. He’s not going to last a second, that boy.

Why do they keep bringing in boys who wouldn’t last a second out on the battlefield?

 

**Author's Note:**

> I remember back in Literature class we were always told that irony was a great device for humour, but I think it works wonders for tragedy, too. Oh, also I still cannot write smut :')
> 
> Bonus cookies if you can guess what the 'code' they cracked was!
> 
> PS: [Taro Division](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/24th_Infantry_Division_\(United_States\)) was an actual division in the US military. The things you learn when you do research for fics.


End file.
